Wargames
by Zorakk
Summary: Those of you who read "Arrival" have already met Klingon Commodore Kevar zantai-Lobaleth, now he's back lending a hand with an insane Romulan commander


This is a tale from the Star Nomad Chronicles 

WARGAMES!   
AN ENOUNTER IN THE NEUTRAL ZONE 

"...Entry into this demilitarized or neutral zone by the warships of either race shall be considered a prelude to invasion and shall instantly abrogate this treaty."  
Federation -- Romulan Peace Treaty of 2109 

2342 hours, Galactic Mean Time,  
Stardate: 7312.23   
Somewhere in the Triangle Sector, just beyond the Federation Outer Territories

* * *

The shimmering glow in space caused by the photonic storm as the Romulan task force neutralized warp and slid smoothly between FTL subspace and normal space could be observed for thousands of kilometers if any observers had been present. Bright auroral discharges of sub spatial energy played across the hulls of the proud starships as they shed the last vestiges of their warp fields. 

On the Bridge of the D'deridex-class battleship B'rettahaln Commander Xenferdious of the Romulan Stellar Armada was angry, and he was in pain from the radiation burns that covered his left shoulder and upper arm which he had gotten in the recent battle against Tholian aggressors in the Va'tunk region of the Empire's hinterlands. 

"My Commander Xenferdious, Task Force Ventanna returns to galactic space-time. All ships report combat ready." Sub-Commander Tal, his first lieutenant, reported. 

"Very well, engage stellar cloak." 

"By your command." 

The newly formed Task Force Ventanna, consisting of the B'rettahaln, and its sister ship, the Blara, a slightly older D'deridex-class from the last cycle -- had been diverted from the northern frontier region and the fighting against the Gorn-Tholian enemy because of blatant Federation violations of the Neutral Zone over the past four years. It was as though the criminals of the Federation were 'testing' Romulan resolve and their commitment to the Road to the Stars...and by the gods Xenferdious would make they pay dearly for this affront to Romulan Destiny. 

Xenferdious ached to get a Federation ship in his gun sights. Six months ago, he'd been First Deputy on the battleship Tevus, engaged in battle against the Gorn-Tholians. That was where he'd received the radiation burns, supervising a damage control party on the lower levels of the doomed ship's engineering section. Tevus had been destroyed and Xenferdious had been among the survivors. He'd been prepared to become k'manatrum, an unperson, devoid of honor or fighting spirit; but the Grand Praetor himself had intervened in his fate and instead of the deserved courts martial, the board of inquiry had exonerated him and given him command of the B'rettahaln and its squadron. It seemed that the old saying was true: Blood was the true test. Xenferdious's relation to the Grand Praetor through his maternal line was tenuous at best, but it had served him well in the past, and it had saved his career this time. Xenferdious was determined to prove to the Romulan Admiralty that the Grand Praetor's faith in him was not misplaced. 

For months, the new squadron had been on patrol -uneventful patrol, conducting training and weapons drills, and conditioning to sharpen the green crews of the two starships into an effective clique of Romulan Warriors, ready and able to extend the will of the Grand Praetor to the frontiers of the universe. This had been stressful on all of the men in his command, many of whom had relatives or foster siblings fighting on the Gorn-Tholian frontier and would much rather have been assigned to the fighting there than assigned to a new ship, with a new commander, and with no battle honors to brag about on shore leave yet... 

"My Commander," The sub-lieutenant at the detection equipment desk broke into Xenferdious's thoughts. "We continue to close on the Federation Criminals." 

"How long to intercept?" Xenferdious barked. 

"Thirty-seven time intervals, my Commander." 

"Very well," Xenferdious growled. At last, action! It had been one of the Neutral Zone outposts that had detected the Federation intruder and vectored his attack squadron after the criminals. This would serve as his squadron's final exam. Then perhaps they would receive orders deploying them to the Gorn-Tholian frontier. 

"Signals Officer," Xenferdious barked suddenly. "My Commander Orders?" "Make contact with Blara. I would speak to Commander Ogan." 

"At once, my Commander Xenferdious." 

The Signals Officer turned to his console and established the video link. On the main screen, the dour image of Ogan, Xenferdious's sub-Commander appeared. 

Ogan placed his clenched fists over his hearts in the Imperial Salute. "My Commander Xenferdious," he mouthed... Xenferdious was not fooled, he knew well that Ogan did not hold him in the degree of respect that he should. But that would change, Xenferdious vowed, grinding his teeth. Ogan had coveted the command of B'rettahaln's squadron for himself and was resentful of Xenferdious's links to the Imperial Line and to others in power in the Senate. 

Ogan scowled out of the telescreen, "My detection officer has finally gotten a clean scan of the target you draw us after," the sub-Commander began. 

"And what is its profile?" Xenferdious paused to shoot a scalding scowl at his own detection officer. B'rettahaln's scanners were of a more advanced type than Balara's sensor suite which were of a Klingon design, dating back almost a century to the days of Romulan-Klingon co-operation. The data on the Federation ship SHOULD have come from his own detection officer. Xenferdious made a mental note to assign him to discipline barracks. Or worse..., growled the nugget of insanity deep within Xenferdious's mind 

"It is an Unarmed freighter." Ogan said, his dark eyebrows raising in mock surprise as he studied a data screen on the armrest of his command chair. "D'Tarnia class, 150,000 tons, NO offensive capability. Ho, ho, ho! we are engaged in chasing a tramp freighter, trying to shorten a cruise by nipping off a corner of the Neutral Zone. Ho, ho, a PROUD moment for the mighty Xenferdious!" 

"Ogan!" Xenferdious snarled. "I do not care if the Federation criminals have offensive capabilities or not! They have violated the Neutral Zone! They are enemies of the Praetor and the people of Rom'lasz. They must die! Move to pursuit mode, sensors to maximum." 

"By YOUR Command," Ogan said, but his face still held the contemptuous half smile.

* * *

2135 hours GMT, stardate 7312.24   
ITC Delta-class Freighter  
Robert A. Heinlein In the Triangle Sector 

The Robert A. Heinlein, a hundred and fifty thousand tons of titanium, durasteel, crystal and xylonite, surfed its way through interstellar space; riding a wrinkle in hyperspace created by the application of tightly controlled electro-gravitic fields generated by the starship's warp drive, much as a human surfer rode the crest of an ocean wave on a planet's surface. The Robert A. Heinlein was running... 

+ running at its maximum pseudo acceleration of one hundred gravities and then some   
+ running for the lives of all aboard her   
+ running from the pursuit of an inhuman enemy from beyond the stars. 

In the small cabin that he shared with his best friend, Mayah ma'WOW, a H'Rrumbian boy, eleven-year-old Travis Morgan knew that something was very wrong. The Robert A. Heinlein's gravfield had "flickered" at least three times in the past six hours, causing his weight to vary from its full Terra-norm of 37 kilograms to zero and back to normal again. There could be only one reason for that, three course changes radical enough to require the realignment of the zero-inertia generators. Three course changes in less than six hours? Hardly standard operation for an aging Interstellar Transport Commission Delta-class freighter like the Robert A. Heinlein. Add to that the tension in the air for the past two days, and it added up to trouble ... bad trouble. 

Travis pushed the scary thoughts out of his mind and attempted to return to the homework problem he was working on. 

But it was absolutely no use! 

Travis was more aware of what was happening because of his overpowering interest in star flight and starship operations. He was better able to better interpret scraps of worried conversation he has managed to overhear, than most of his peers. In addition, his duties as ship's runner periodically brought him to the bridge, where he would steal stealthy he hoped glances at the ship's navigational and tactical plots. All of these bits of data had convinced Travis that there was something seriously wrong, and the Heinlein was fleeing from something. 

Travis was an orphan, his past obscured by the passage of time and the distances of interstellar space. He and his friend Mayah ma'WOW had been adopted by the crew of the tramp freighter Robert A. Heinlein last year and rescued from almost certain death at the hands of Kilrathi pirates. Could it be that the Kilrathi had caught up with them? What if instead of the Kilrathi it was renegade Jem-Ha'darr? Travis shivered and tried again to put such mind numbing thoughts out of his mind. 

Christmas had been totally ruined for him. The younger children, of both passengers and crew were still happily unaware that anything out of the ordinary was happening - they were still playing in the ship's lounges, the gym, and on the holodeck (when they could get it away from the adults!) and involved in other before Christmas activities such as trying to guess what Santa was going bring them and in conducting 'security searches' of every cargo hold and other out of the way place on the 270 meter long starship. 

The "Attention on Deck" three-note whistle of the bo'sun's pipe came over the address intracraft and Travis paused for a moment to devote his entire attention to the announcement, glad of an excuse to push aside the essay he'd been assigned to write in his HISTORY OF THE FEDERATION class. 

"Attention all kids!" the announcement began, Travis snorted, nothing important, only a Santa update for the little kids. 

"Ensign Manelli, the Scan Engineer, has just called from the bridge, She is keeping a close watch on Santa's course; and Santa and Rudolph are on course and schedule. They will rendezvous with the Robert A. Heinlein shortly after 0100 tomorrow morning ...provided that the Officer of the Deck can assure Santa that all the children are asleep." 

At his advanced age of eleven, Travis had long ago figured out that there was no 'real' Santa, but he could not see that belief in a jolly fat ole elf who brought gifts to good little girls and boys had any detrimental effects. (In fact it did wonders to improve the deportment of the wildest kids.) Travis had more or less accepted the adult position that no adult would ever express any feelings about Santa except solid 100 belief in the old elf. 

At that moment the cabin chime rang. 

"C'mon in," Travis said and looked up from the compupal and scattered tapechips of his homework on the low coffee table in front of the fold out sofabed. The tough plastic of the cabin door slid aside to reveal five-year-old ... (whoops!) Travis thought, (Five and a HALF year-old) Kristy Engelmann, who lived directly across the radial-B corridor from him. 

"Travis," the younger girl exclaimed breathlessly, "Did you hear? Santa is really coming!" 

"Yeah," Travis said carefully. Kristy was too smart by half, and she half doubted the Santa legend already, but she wanted to believe. She was constantly testing Travis to see if he would let any thing slip and she had nearly tripped him up a couple of times as the older boy had attempted to 'adjust' the Santa legend to reflect the realities of the 24th century instead of the 19th. For example, Kristy had asked how Santa would find them, and Travis has confidently told her that Santa was an excellent astrogator, and that she should have no worries on that account. It did not matter in the least that the North Pole was now more than seventy-five hundred light years away. 

He hadn't counted on her asking how the actual rendezvous would be accomplished without the Robert A. Heinlein shutting down it's warp drive -- which twisted space and time into a virtually impenetrable bubble around the ship's stasis field. 

Kristy grinned up at him as he squirmed. Crom's Devils! Was she REALLY only five? And where had she come up with the sophistication to ask questions like that based upon the frontiers of humanity's knowledge of quantum reality. It was spooky... 

Travis had taken the quickest and easiest way out by telling her that the Robert A. Heinlein would shut down the warp drive for the rendezvous. 

"What are you going to ask Santa for?" the little girl inquired? 

"I want a new Q-RAM module for my Compupal," Trav said off handedly. Actually, he's found the Q-Ram isometric chip in the bottom of Lindsey's underwear drawer a week ago, so he felt safe in his prediction, "How 'bout you?" 

"Travis," Kristy said, her eyes very serious, 

"What's wrong with everybody?" 

"Huh?" he said. "What'd'ya mean?" 

The meter tall, 19 kilogram girl made a rude noise and turned her hypnotic brown eyes toward the older boy. "Travis! Stop treating me like a baby! I am not a baby! Everyone is worried about something," Kristy said. "I don't know what it is but they are ... and so are you and Bobby and Kelly, and you guys KNOW about starships..." 

That was true enough, Travis and his two best friends, Bobby Paige, age twelve and Kelly Sorenson, age fourteen, were all called 'space crazy' by the rest of their age group because they would much rather sneak up to the bridge control room and watch quietly as the members of the maneuvering crew guided the huge interstellar freighter through subspace, than play laser tag in the corridors. 

The three of them had compared notes about scraps of conversation they had overheard ... on the bridge, in the mess hall, and in other various places throughout the ship. The pieces added up to a frightening picture ... the ship's bridge crew was worried about something, something VERY bad. 

"Kristy, there is nothing for you to worry about..." 

"But..." 

BAH-DOOOMMM ! 

The sound, like a rock hitting a sewer pipe, echoed throughout the ship. It was immediately followed by the wailing of the ship's Emergency alarm. 

"General Quarters," the Address Intracraft blared, "All crew - man your battle stations! All crew - man your battle stations. By order of the Captain, all passengers and dependents will proceed at once to the safe room." 

"Travis! What's happening?" Kristy asked. 

"That was something hitting the ship. That shouldn't be possible because we're in warp, but that was defiantly something hitting us." Travis grabbed Kristy's hand with one hand and his CompuPal in the other. "C'mon," he said. "You heard the Captain's order. We have to go to the safe room." 

"B--but mommy and daddy ..." the little girl started to protest. 

"Will be expecting to find you in the safe room," Travis said. 

The small girl nodded and allowed Travis to lead her into the corridor and join the others heading aft to the armored portion of the freighter that could withstand any but the most ruthless and determined attack. 

"Kristy, I don't know what is wrong either ... exactly," Travis admitted. "The grown ups won't tell us, so it must be bad. There are roumers that we're being chased by another starship. If that's true, and if they managed to synchronize warps, that was probably a phaser blast hitting the ship that we heard. If it had been a photon torpedo, we wouldn't be here now..." 

Travis added to himself the unpleasant thought: that would be true unless a pursuer had managed to synchronize warp with them and momentarily slipped into the same temporal reference frame. That meant a warship with the specialized sensors and equipment for fine tuning a warp field. Such equipment was hideously expensive and temperamental, requiring years of expertise to operate safely. Such equipment was only available on military vessels. That probably meant that those chasing them were not Kilrathi pirates. 

The five-year-old caught her breath and held it for a moment. "It might be the Jem-Ha'darr," she said. "My grandpa Jim says that the Jem-Ha'darr EAT children..." 

"Nah --" Travis started, trying to sound unconcerned. "The Bajorian wormhole is at LEAST 7600 light years away ... Jem-Ha'darr renegades would NEVER make it across half of the Federation. We're a lot closer to the Romulan Neutral Zone... 

And then he was sorry he'd said it. Relations between the Komerex Klingon and the Federation had never been better; but relations with the Romulans were still murky and unsure, even with the momentary spark of co-operation during the Dominion Wars ... there were always stories on INFONET about ships going missing along the Neutral Zone, and about the fate of any survivors...? It was commonly believed that Romulans DID eat children, human ones anyway.

* * *

2300 hours GMT, stardate 7312.24  
Star Nomad ship HMS Scorpio, CVA-76  
In the HD 63077 star system 

The Goliath-class Assault Carrier HMS Scorpio hung seemingly motionless a scant 60 kilometers above the surface of the small nickel-iron asteroid in the HD 63077 star system, three parsecs from the Federation-Triangle sector boundary. On the surface of the 135-kilometer radius asteroid, a crew of thirty-nine technicians were busy at work, stripping the asteroid of it's one valuable commodity -- water ice -- to be used in the six million ton star ship's Closed Ecology Life Support System (CELSS). Scorpio and it's two Reliant Class escort destroyers: Raven and Fenris-wolf were here to participate in a joint training exercise with a Klingon attack squadron consisting of a Vorcha-class heavy cruiser and four old D-7c Light cruisers. Starn called up the technical specifications of the Vorcha-class. Impressive, roughly equivalent to a Galaxy-class starship. This exercise was part of the Federation's program of familiarization of Federation Starfleet and allied military units with Klingon battle tactics and equipment, now that the Komerex Klingon after the many diplomatic and inter military stresses caused by the Klingon Civil War between factions led by the current First Councilor, Galron, and his primary rival for power, Councilor Durahaz had reverted back to the provisions of the Interspecsis Co-operation Treaty of Organia 2273 and the Khitamurr Accords. 2331. Now with the threat of a Dominion invasion, the Komerex and Federation war planners were determined to meet the threat with overwhelming force in the early hours of any invasion from the Gamma Quadrent. To do this, it was imperative that the Klingon and human military machines function as close as possible to a seamless whole. 

Although technically, Scorpio, Raven and Fenris-wolf were NOT Terran Ascendancy Star Fleet -- or Federation Starfleet for that matter; they were still taking part in the vast galaxy-wide war games exercise because the coalition of Star Nomad Nations more often than not aligned themselves with the Terran Ascendancy -- and Terra was a founding member of the Federation -- and also the single planetary home to the race which the Klingons considered their equals in their Komerex Zha or "Great Game of Life." 

Commodore Baron Verince Starn, Commanding Officer of Task Force Eighty-three, of which Scorpio was the Flagship, had his own doubts about how loyal an ally the Klingons would prove to be in any situation than ran counter to the Imperial interests of Galron, Kahless's First Councilor on the Klingon Council of Peers -- or that of Martog the General in tactical command of the Klingon Imperial Armed Forces in the Bajor system. But there could be no mistaking the fact that BOTH the Federation and the Komerex Klingon had a big stake in making this alliance last, and seemingly were now committed to doing so. That made good tactical sense, seeing as how both the Federation and the Komerex Klingon had come closer than either wanted to admit to defeat against a single Borg megaship back in 2367. Now, with the Dominion's Absorption of the Kardasian Ligature and their Jem-Ha'darr troops stationed along the Kardasian-Bajor boarders, bilateral arguments on the best way to meet the threat posed by the Dominion and how to secure the Bajorian Worm Hole flared both on Klintzai and Terra. Romulan aggressiveness and covert activity along the Neutral Zone and in the Triangle Sector was on the increase, the Tholians were engaged in open hostilities with the Romulans and no one was sure when the next Borg incursion might occur. The military high commands of both interstellar superpowers had decided it would be both prudent and mutually advantageous to more closely integrate their stellar forces. 

It was actually remarkable how little animosity toward the Klingons, the arch enemy of the Federation a scant 90 solar years ago, had survived the Kardasian Frontier Wars of 2350-2356, when both the Federation and the Klingons had been drawn into the Kardasian's designs on a large volume of space considered strategic by all three stellar powers. It was, in point of fact, from that conflict that the current close co-opoeration between the Klingons and Federation stemmed. There had been no active hostilities between the superpowers since before the Khitamurr Accords, but the Klingons were of a mercurial nature and often Klingon Imperial interests were in direct opposition to the aims of the Federation. At such times, the Klingons could in a blink of an eye decide that there were greater rewards in the Komerex Zha by ignoring ties to the Federation. 

Starn returned to the briefing tape he was reviewing on the command chair's armrest screen. It was a biography of Commodore Kevar zantai-Lobaleth, the Klingon Commander he would be facing in mock combat the following day. Starn noted the name prefix 'zantai' carefully, if he had it right, that denoted a military commander with a long history of accomplishment, both military and social, in effect a member of the mid-nobility of the Klingon Empire. Kevar was 58, that was old for a Klingon line officer, but the fact that he was still around in a service that turned a simi-blind eye to the assassination of superiors was impressive, almost as impressive as his list of accomplishments. He'd been promoted to Commodore in the opening days of the Klingon Civil Wars of 2369-71, and had seen extensive combat in command of a D-9 Vorcha-classCruiser Squadron, nearly identical to the ships he was bringing against the Scorpio. Kevar had also been in command of a Klingon Squadron in 2367 that along with Picard and the USS Enterprise had defeated a Cylon task force trying to exterminate a human refugee group from the semi-mythical Kobal. It meant that Kevar was intimately familiar with Terran military doctrine and plans. The Kobalites had revolutionized Terram military thinking and had reintroduced the fighter carrier to Terran military planning, in fact HMS Scorpio was based upon the Kobalite battlestar -their sensor echoes and visual outlines were virtually identical. 

All this was bad news for Starn, who had received his promotion to Flag Rank less than six months ago. The CVA attack carrier class was a new concept, no one in Star Fleet had any experience in commanding anything like it. Starn would have to learn as he went. Although he had attended the Imperial Terran War Collage on Mars; and knew the mechanics of commanding a fleet in battle, Starn had never actually done it -- while Kevar had -- and in stellar combat, experience was 99 of the mixture that went to produce a winning commander. To make matters worse, Task Force 83, which would eventually form around the nucleus of HMS Scorpio's command squadron, was also a new formation. Eventually it would consist of eighteen warships, including a Galaxy-class heavy cruiser. But that was the future, for now it was being assembled from a patchwork of new and experienced crews and ships at Starbase 10. If it had been a Chinese fire drill so far getting the Attack Carrier's crew to function in some semblance of order, how much more chaos would a Task Force of new, green crews manning new, untested vessels experience? 

Although on paper, Scorpio and her two Reliant-class destroyer escorts were more than a match for the Klingon squadron, uncertainty about Scorpio's combat readiness and questions about the optimum combat tactics continued to plague Starn. The Commodore's biggest worry was the crew of the Scorpio itself. They were all new to each other, and unlike either Raven or Fenris-wolf's crews, they were mostly green, without the all important "breaking in" period necessary to come together as a crew...and Scorpio's crew numbered almost 3,000 with the Air Wing and Marine battalion, nearly three times that of a Galaxy-class starship. In addition, nearly 7,000 civilian non-combantants and dependents were onboard. HMS Scorpio was in every respect a small town with all the social strengths and disadvantages that implied. This mock combat against the Klingon Squadron would prove invaluable in bringing the new crew together and getting them used to working like a crew instead of a gathering of highly skilled, individual technicians. 

Kevar also had extensive anti-piracy experience suppressing Orion slavers in this area of the Triangle and according to the briefing tape, Kevar's Squadron were all crack veterans of many combat operations. Starn guessed that meant that Kevar and his squadron had also fought against Durahz privateers and again probably right here in the Triangle, a strategically important loose galactic star cluster of some 800 stars, where through some operation of fate, three warp gates were clustered within a hundred light years of each other; one Federation, one Klingon and one Romulan. That meant Kevar would be familiar with all the good hiding places and ambush choke-points in the sector. Another point in his favor. 

Verince Starn, 45, had commanded Raven during the Klingon Civil Wars, and brought her with him when he'd been assigned as Task Force Commander of the HMS Scorpio's Task Force 83. Verince's most recent combat experience was over a year ago, when Raven had engaged an Orion Slaver transport and its three gunships escorts. After the conflict, Raven's forward hull had three new skull and crossbones kill awards to add to its already extensive battle colors. 

"Raven is making contact," the Communications Officer said from the comm station off to his left-rear. "Captain Drakul is on channel eight sir." 

Verince punched a switch on the arm rest of his command chair, and the data on Kevar disappeared from the small screen to be replaced by the craggy features of the destroyer's CO, Captain Vladimir Drukul. 

"Vlad," Verince said, "What is Raven's Status?" 

"Combat ready, sir," the other officer raised a clenched fist. 

"I have taken the liberty of posting Fenris-wolf on deep system watch, 0.2 AUs spinward of us and 75 degrees above the ecliptic." 

"Good idea. The Klingons are known for their treachery, perhaps it might be a good idea for you to nose around below the ecliptic. Concentrate your sensor sweeps on the sun. Klingon military doctrine calls for them to make maximum use of a star to mask their approach to a system." 

"As you command," the older officer said. "Has anything more come in on our "esteemed" opponent?" 

Good old Vlad, Verince chuckled. to himself, still baby-sitting me. Raven's new skipper had been Verince's XO during the long years of the Klingon Civil War and after. Vladimir Drakul, 60, had continually, fussed over his youngish skipper and several times had saved Starn from making a fool of himself in the old days when he'd been a new Captain. The Raven's communications gear was as good as that of the Scorpio; Vlad knew there had been no further orders from Star Base Ten after ordering the 83rd to rendezvous with the Klingons here in the HD 63077 system -- Vlad had only used this very transparent excuse to call and play mother cat again. But it was impossible for Verince to be angry with Mother Cat, a nickname Verince had hung on the other some thirty years ago when he'd been a freshman cadet at the academy. Vlad had been a Lt. Commander then, in charge of the old Endurance an Enterprise class cruiser - engine room. If it had not been for Drakul's interest in the lanky, stubborn cadet, it was unlikely that Verince Starn would be here in on the quarter deck of one of the finest warships ever built by the Star Nomad Nation. 

"No, Vlad, nothing more. I figure those D-7s and Kevar's D-9 Vorcha will be here sometime around 0600 tomorrow, given the positions that Star Fleet relayed." 

"I think we can expect the Klingons to make a spectacular entrance." 

"I think you're right. Pre-action briefing tomorrow at," Verince looked up at the giant mission chronometer above the main screen, "0300 hours, then we'll go to battle stations at 0500 and try to have an appropriate welcome for the Klingons." 

"Very well, Sir, 0300 tomorrow." 

As the contact was broken, Verince looked over at the communications officer, "Relay that data to the Fenris-wolf, please." 

"Aye, sir." Verince pulled up a status indicator window on the screen of his command computer. Defensive systems, ready; all flights of Viper and Scorpion attack craft showed ready, the support flight squadron was ready, flight line itself ready... 

No, no, this would never do, Engines off line and a CELSS party on the surface of the asteroid. What could Mr. D'vorak, the CELSS chief be thinking of, with action so close. What if they had to leave orbit...? 

Oh, well, with the engines off line, the Scorpio was dead in space, six million tons of essentially space garbage, unable to maneuver. 

"Mr. Andrews," Starn said into the address intracraft after punching in the Chief Engineer's combination. 

"Yes, sir?" 

"What are you doing with my engines? We're less than six hours away from this mock combat with the Klingons." 

The bright face of the young Chief Engineer came on the screen and he grinned happily at the Commodore. "Don't worry sir, we'll be back on line by 0500 hours, and I wanted to make sure that the primary plasma injectors to the port side Impulse drive is at top effiency. I figure we'll have to be doing a lot of dodging and ducking with those agile little D7s." 

Verince frowned, it WAS going to be a rough time for the maneuvering crew, attempting to keep the kilometer long Scorpio out of the way of the (by comparison) tiny D-7 light cruisers. He supposed it did make sense in a way... "All right, mister, but I want those engines back on line by 0445. I plan to go to battle stations at 0500." 

"Not to worry, sir. We'll be ready." 

"Bridge out," Starn snorted. "Mr. Starski, get me Cmdr. D'vorak on the asteroids surface please." 

"Aye, aye sir." the Communications officer said. "Commander D'vorak coming on channel 3 now sir." 

"Jean, what are you doing on the surface of that Godforsaken rock?" 

The small high definition commo-screen on his armrest showed the the impossibly bright sunlight of vacuum glinting off the ice on the surface of the small asteroid and the vacuum armor coated personage of Commander Jean D'vorak, Scorpio's Life Support Systems Engineer. 

"Hi, Verince!" She said with altogether too much familiarity for an open channel. It was all right for a skipper to call a crew person by their first name, it showed compassion and concern, but for a crew person (even the 'Commodore's Woman') to do so showed lack of respect. "We're stripping off about a thousand tons of perfectly good water ice for the ship's replicators." 

"How long will you be?" 

"Oh, maybe another hour and forty-five minutes. Is there a problem?" 

"Not really, but I want to be able to try and surprise that Klingon bastard tomorrow, and I don't want to have to leave you behind." 

"We'll be beaming back up no later than 0100, I promise." 

"Okay, I guess I can live with that since our brilliant Chief Engineer has taken the engines off line to do some adjustments and maintenance. Be sure you get back up here ASAP though." 

"I will..." 

"Commodore..." 

Verince turned in his command chair to face the Scan Engineer. "Yes Mr. Lehmann?" 

"Sensor contact, sir. Bearing 188 mark 25 degrees." 

Almost directly astern of them, coming in from the outer system, and slightly above the ecliptic. Not a comet, it was moving too fast. 

"Identification, Mr. Lehmann?" 

"Unknown, sir. It appears only on the motion scanners, there is no trace in the Mass Proximity Indicator or on quantum-link radar. It's only a tiny bulge against one of the outer planets. Bearing still 188 mark 25, range four-eight-oh-double oh standard. At first I thought it was a natural phenomena, like a pulsar after image or the like, but there appears to also be a hyperspacial echo effect..." 

"Indeed?" The Commodore raised an eyebrow in interest. Pressing several programming commands into the auto programmer on the armrest of his command chair. The screen now displayed the output from the sensor. What the devil was that - it was vaguely familiar... 

"Range closing, sir," the Scan Engineer said. "Now 47-oh-double oh...465 double oh, still closing..." 

To be coming that fast, they were moving at super luminal velocity ... "CROM'S DEVILS!" The Commodore swore suddenly. "Battle Stations, Mr. Turgenev! Those are Klingon G-88 Faster Than Light torpedoes!" 

Three hundred meters aft of the C-I-C, the wail of the battle stations klaxons split the silence of the Scorpio's flight deck. In the flight ready room, the scramble alert crew burst into action, jumping off bunks and abandoning card games. Pilots and ground crew members raced for their assigned fighters. 

On board Raven, Drakul began bellowing orders and slowly the destroyer began to maneuver out of orbit. 0.2 AUs away, the Fenris-wolf also began to maneuver toward the outer system of the star HD 63077. In the C-I-C on HMS Scorpio, Starn watched as the Klingon torpedoes closed. There was no longer any doubt, all eight of the torpedoes would impact on Scorpio. This was suppose to be a game, but what were Kevar's orders from Galron? Were those G-88s armed with thermonuclear warheads, or red paint? There was no way to tell until they impacted and the detonators went off. 

"Transmat room, get that CELSS party off the asteroid double quick! All dependents to the safe room." 

"Already under way, sir," the Transmat Chief informed him over the address interacraft. The Purser reported the noncombatants moving into the carrier's safe room, in six minutes they would be ready to button it up. The torpedoes continued their relentless track toward Scorpio, 00:06:35 to impact. 

The first of Scorpio's Viper, Super Viper and Scorpion X-wing fighters were launching now. The Commodore watched as the X-wings fanned out into a skirmish line facing the incoming torpedoes. An interception would be almost a miracle, but with the Scorpio powered down in orbit, without shields; there was little else he could do, except hope that the close-in guns which fired depleted U-235 solid slugs, could take out some of the incoming torpedoes. But like so many things aboard Scorpio, the close-in guns were experimental and had been installed but never tested. 

"Mr. Andrews!" The Commodore bellowed at the address intracraft. His voice boomed out of a similar device almost a kilometer to the aft of the command bridge in main engineering. "How long to power up? I need shields, and I need them NOW! " 

"At least fifteen minutes, Commodore, I'm bypassing most of the power up protocol now, I dare not go any faster..." 

"You've only got 15 SECONDS, those G-88s will be here in 55 to 60 seconds." 

On the main screen the G-88s loomed ever larger. 

"Sound collision alarm, Mr. Tergenev." 

Throughout the 1/5 cubic kilometer volume of the Star Nomad warship, the harsh cacophony of the collision alarm warned crew to stop whatever activity they were involved in and try to brace themselves as best they could. 

On the Bridge, seconds ticked by as the G-88 torpedoes came on. "Last chance to be a hero, Mr Andrews. We need power to the shields." 

"Sorry Commodore, I guess you'll have to fire me." 

"Your fired." The Commodore said mirthlessly and the torpedoes struck. One impacted on the armored forward viewports of bridge. 

Red paint splattered over a full 60 of the viewing area. 

There was an easily perceptible psyche sigh of relief from the over ten thousand humans aboard the carrier as it became obvious that the Klingon raid was indeed a part of the scheduled war games. 

"Commodore," the communications officer said, "The Klingons are hailing us." 

"On screen." 

Kevar zantai-Lobaleth stood on the bridge of his Vorcha class cruiser, K'vort, dressed in his full Empire Day dress regalia. 

"Federation Commander -- you are dead, if you are very lucky, you are serving Kahless in the Black Fleet." 

"Klingon Commander ... Well, I must admit you caught me that time. Care for a rematch with my ship at 100?" 

Kevar's face split into a big grin, "At your convenience," he said. On the Klingon bridge there was a bit of confusion in the background, and finally a second Klingon, Kevar's Chief of Staff by his insignia whispered in the Klingon's ear. 

"What?" The Klingon ejaculated. 

"Trouble?" Verince purred hopefully 

"We are picking up a distress call," Kevar said. At that very minute, Verince's comm officer signaled that he also had picked up the distress signal. 

Verince studied the comm repeater. "It's a Federation civilian delta class freighter, under attack by an unknown enemy. It looks as if we will have to postpone doom's day," Starn said. 

"It seems so," Kavar agreed. "Ah, it is good to be going into battle for real! VICTORY TO THE EMPIRE!"

* * *

2300 hours GMT, stardate 7312.24   
ITC Delta class freighter  
Robert A. Heinlein In the Triangle Sector 

The evacuation of the Heinlein's civilians to the freighter's safe room had gone in as orderly a fashion as possible; and now the overflow, mostly children of the ship's crew were boarding the ship's escape pods. Travis and MaWOW, because of their past interest in spaceflight had been drafted into piloting two of the escape pods. There had been a minimum amount of tears and wailing as younger children had to say good-bye to parents. Travis paused a moment at the edge of his escape pod's airlock and watched as MaWOW waved and pulled the outer hatch of his escape pod closed. There was a dull clang as metal met metal and the sealing ring engaged. 

Travis turned to the job of sealing his own airlock and then immediately took the pilot's couch on the flight deck of the hexagon shaped cube of the escape pod. Through the transparent aluminum of the viewport, he could see several dozen of the ship's crew - who were also parents. 

"Heinlein core control to escape pods," the pilot's command intracraft headset crackled in his ears, "Prepare for ejection launch in 120 seconds, Port side first, and Starboard in number order." 

Travis wriggled his skinny fanny into a more comfortable position in the pilots couch and took a deep breath and clicked the acceleration harness into position. He took a minute to look over his shoulder to make certain his charges were all securely buckled in and then returned his attention to the pod's instrumentation. He had seen the master orbit plot on the bridge at their briefing, and indeed there was a miniature copy of it here on the escape pod's instrument cluster. The orbit plot was of a few minutes into the future, after the Heinlein's ejection of the escape pods -- and it showed the last scans of both the perusing Romulan warbirds and the Star Nomad Attack Carrier. The Romulan's still had a seven minute edge. 

"Core control to escape pods, ejection launch commences in sixty seconds. Report your status, please." Outside, Travis could see ground crew personnel herding the last of the parents out of the escape pod bay, which would be hard vacuum in sixty seconds. 

"Control, this is Starboard No. 1 pod," Travis heard his H'Rrumbain friend's clear treble voice over the omnicomm link, "ready for launch." 

The launch bay was empty now, and the light panels had been dimmed to almost nothing, to help accustom the young pilot's eyes to the velvety blackness of interstellar space. 

"Control," Travis's voice cracked somewhat, "This is Starboard Number two pod. Ready for ejection." The eleven year old made a few last minute adjustments to the straps that held him to the acceleration couch and then twisted his head around again to look back into the dim light of the passenger area. Sixteen anxious pairs of eyes returned his gaze. Travis had "middle" agers, from five to twelve, while Klanth's pod was jammed with infants and toddlers, with a few teenagers to take care of them while the H'Rrumban boy piloted the escape pod. The other ten pods down the length of the port and starboard sides of the Heinlein carried the remainder of Heinlein's kids and a few overspill from the colonists who were unable to find births in he safe room. 

The omnicomm crackled again, "Core control transferring launch control to escape pods." The eject timer on his instrument cluster read 00:00:30. In front of him, the Robert A. Heinlein's wide hatch began to cycle open, and Travis began his preflight. Satisfied that the small pod's robot brain was operating correctly, he turned once more to his passengers. 

"Okay you guys," he tried to sound cheerful, "here we go. Everyone buckle up!" 

"We're ready, Travis!" Kristy's voice came from near the back of the double row of acceleration couches. "Aren't we, you guys?" 

There was a weak cheer from the youngsters and Travis turned back to the job of getting clear of the ship. As the launch counter reached 00:00:00 there was a bump and a sudden 4 gee shock of acceleration as the escape pod ejection system's steam catapults threw all twelve pods into the void of interstellar space on individual trajectories. For a few seconds, Travis was able to visually track MaWOW's escape pod before the H'Rrumban boy ignited the thrusters, leaving an ephemeral trail of ghostly green ions in its wake. 

"Spaceman's Luck all," the omnicomm said once more and then as arranged went dead, so as not to attract attention of the perusing Romulans. 

Travis ignited his pod's own trusters and quickly added 80 kilometers between himself and the Robert A. Heinlein. It was quickly lost to sight visually, but the pod's tracking sensors still accurately reported its location relative to the pod. 

A sun-bright blaze of a starship's impulse drive suddenly appeared in the depths of space over Travis's left shoulder as far off in the void, the colony ship switched on its giant sublight drive, opening up an even wider space between the Heinlein and that which its Captain was desperately trying to hide from the Romulans. Travis cut off the thrusters and polarized the viewports so no errant photon of light would reveal their location to the Romulans, now only a few minutes away. 

Travis unlatched the acceleration harness and went into the passenger area of the pod. As he entered all eyes were on him. 

"Well, Captain ...?" Kristy asked. 

"Now we wait," Travis said. "We could play a game." 

"How about strip poker?" someone laughed.

* * *

0325 hours GMT, stardate 7312.25   
Star Nomad Ship HMS Scorpio, CVA-76   
In route to ITC Robert A. Heinlein -- Warp seven point three 

Lord Commodore Verince Starn sat brooding in his office just off the busy bridge of the Battlestar Scorpio. He was sprawled in the high-backed command chair looking at two 3Dee projections hovering just above the surface of his desk. One was the output of his ship's battle computer. It showed the starsystem that they were now almost certainly going to do battle with the Romulans in. It showed in tiny high resolution perfection a model of the gas giant which the battle computer predicted was the most likely battlefield of this conflict. The giant planet was reduced to marble-size in the hologram, but that did not mean that the violence and power of the planet's outer atmosphere was not apparent . Fighting in that rats nest of gravometrics and radiation produced by the huge planet would be tricky, but excellent training for his crew. 

The other hologram was of his son, Adam Starn, age eleven. Bright, playful, mischievous ... 

Ever since the younger Starn had been old enough to grasp what a starship was, Adam had pestered his dad to be allowed to accompany the older Starn on a patrol mission. 

The fact that the Federation's Galaxy-class starships now routinely had families billeted aboard had added ammunition to the boy's arguments. The mere fact that the Galaxy class was an exploration and diplomatic vessel and not a combat ship like Starn's previous command, the destroyer Raven, had made little impression on Adam. In fact the boy rather hoped that if he were successful in getting permission to go on a cruise that the Raven WOULD be called upon to defend the Star Nomad Nation at some point in the voyage. Adam was of course thinking of the battles portrayed on Tri-Dee, not its reality with men and women most often dying of radiation burns, asphyxiation or poisoned atmosphere. The reality of stellar combat was not an instant of disintegration, faster than the brain could record pain; but because of giant strides in shielding technology was much more often the horror of having the ship's structural integrity field collapse or the ship's own warp drive tearing the ship apart, spilling its crew into the frigid airless environment of interstellar space. 

Finally, however, Adam had prevailed, and Verince had told his young son that if he could secure his mother's permission he could indeed go on one of Raven's upcoming patrols. His wife, M'Lissa, had not been nearly as thrilled as Adam and had stalled him temporarily by telling him that he must wait until his eleventh birthday and be an exemplary student in school before she would even consider such an idea. Being only days past his tenth birthday, M'Lissa had felt she could eventually talk her bright son out of this insanity. But for the next year, the little boy had worked very hard on his studies and had been very difficult to live with, unless you lived, breathed and talked about nothing else but Star Fleet. A full half year before his eleventh birthday, M'Lissa had admitted defeat and given her permission. 

True to his word to M'Lissa, Verince had called in all his markers at the Admiralty and had managed to arrange a patrol which was mostly recon and science scans, only making planet fall on civilized worlds which were Federation worlds. 

Finally the day had come, and an overexcited eleven year old, dressed in a scaled down version of the blue-gray jumpsuit uniform of the Star Nomad contingent of Starfleet, beamed aboard the orbiting destroyer. During most of the journey, Adam had spent most of his time getting in everyone's way; but by the midpoint of the patrol circuit, near Star's End in the Cygnius Arm of the Milky Way Galaxy, everyone -- officers and ratings -were thoroughly enchanted by the skipper's son. Approximately 40 hours out from Valhalla on the return leg of the patrol; the Raven had suffered a minor drive malfunction and had to shut its warp drive down. It was only routine, and really not that uncommon an occurrence on the older Reliant-class ships -most of which were approaching a century of active service. It was nothing serious, just a clogged warp plasma flow vent on the inboard port side nacelle, about three hours of grunt work in vacuum armor for the engineering crew clearing the flow vents ... in fact Verince had looked at it as a very good opportunity for Adam to experience what it was like to work outside a ship in deep space wearing awkward, bulky vac-armor. 

Adam had been excited as he suited up and waited with his father and the work crew in the service airlock aft of the bridge. Everything went beautifully as the work progressed until the very last section of the job, when the crew was reinstalling the vent's outer xylonite radiation baffles. Adam had apparently gotten bored and decided to do a somersault. His first attempt was small, and well within the confines of Raven's deflectors. It was a perfect 360 rotation, ending with the eleven-year-old again standing on the nacelle with the magnaloc soles of his vac-armor against the durillium-steel of the hull. 

Looking back at the incident over the intervening four years, Verince decided that was the fatal mistake he had made. The work crew, including Verince had stopped and watched, and worse, applauded, glad of a few seconds of diversion from a hard, boring job. Encouraged by this approval, the youngster decided to do a larger loop, perhaps landing on the starboard nacelle and flexed his leg muscles in preparation for the leap. Verince and several of the work party immediately guessed what the boy was thinking, but their shouted warnings came too late. Adam's strong boy legs were capable of supplying more than enough delta-v to escape the relatively weak gravitational field of the 65,000 ton starship; and within a second, Adam was on an escape hyperbolic trajectory that would take him well beyond the Raven's deflector shields. 

It had been mildly annoying, but still not dangerous. Verince would have to use the jetpack in his command suit to go after Adam and tow his young son back to the ship. There would be a stern talking to when they were back in the Captain's day room just off the bridge ... about the dangers of untaught through actions in deep space. 

Adam of course realized his mistake as soon as he jumped. Instead of curving up gracefully through the z-axis and landing gracefully on the opposite nacelle, he was now drifting away from Raven in the general direction of Rigil at a delta-v of 36 cm/sec. He was feeling very foolish. 

"I guess I jumped too hard?" The eleven-year-old said. 

"Yes, I guess you did," Verince said calmly as the jetpack continued to chase the boy. He was less than 20 meters away from his son and slightly below him when out of the corner of his eye the Star Nomad captain caught the faint glint of starlight on the meteoroid. At 50 km/sec the piece of jagged iron and stone struck Adam Starn in the stomach and exited from his body between his shoulders. It lost less than .002 millisecond and 4 meters/second out of its 130 million year long period as it orbited the center of the galaxy. 

Adam died instantly of course as the 4 kg chunk of iron and stone tore his upper body inside out, his suit split open like an overripe melon exposing this frail boy's body to the icy vacuum of interstellar space. His body fluids were instantly freeze dried by the 16 Kelvin temperature of the interstellar void. When he reached Adam, the boy was surrounded by a cloud of ice crystals from the suit's atmospheric gasses. Shutting off the radio, Verince wept as he reached the corpse. His sweet, bright little boy ... The ghostly image of the cracked bubble helmet and the dead child's face within still haunted the space officer. Adam's eyes had been closed, and some of his unruly blonde hair had fallen across the boy's forehead ... much as he appeared in the hologram. 

"Commodore ..." His brooding was thankfully interrupted by the ship's comm system. 

"Yes. Mr. Crusher?" 

"We're entering the V-984 starsystem sir." 

"On my way," Starn said and opened the door separating his office from the Bridge. The lanky Nomad flag officer strode quickly to his command chair and keyed in his command codes and received a combat update. Starn studied the long range sensors. The Romulan squadron had already neutralized warp and was chasing the Robert A. Heinlein. Two D'deridex class battleships hounded the ancient ITC Delta-class freighter. A long way from the Neutral Zone for a renegade Romulan Commander to meet his Battlegroup and Kevar's Vorcha and four D-7 cruisers. Mister pointy ears was seriously outgunned here. But all this allied fire power might arrive too late to do the freighter much good. The Robert A. Heinlein was making a valiant effort to stay ahead of the Romulans, its impulse drives producing a superheated blue-white trail of charged ions a million kilometers long. 

Starn was well aware of the frailties of an old colony ship like Heinlein. He could imagine the chaos in the engine room as grim faced engineers attempted to keep overloaded reactors on line and feeding raw electricity into the superheated cathodes of the shield generators. It wouldn't be able to withstand many hits by photon torpedoes or the big bore plasma cannons the D'deridex battleship was armed with. 

"Commodore," the scan engineer reported, "One of the D'deridex-class cruisers is turning to engage us." 

Starn studied the combat computer's tactical plot which was currently displayed on the bridge's main screen. One of the Romulan D'deridex cruisers had turned to cover the second one that had continued on after the Heinlein. The two Romulans were attempting a flanking maneuver, driving at maximum acceleration in opposite directions before turning to confront the oncoming Klingon and Nomad ships. Less than ten minutes now remained before Verince's squadron would be in range and tested in battle. 

"Comm, get me Commodore Kevar," Starn growled. 

"Already on, Commodore," the comm officer said. 

"On Screen." The tactical plot was replaced by the craggy face of the Klingon Commander. 

"So, you've seen!" Kevar snorted. 

"Yes, very unwise move. Which do you want?" Starn chuckled. 

"I will take the one below the Ecliptic, you may engage the other pah'Tok chasing your countrymen." 

"Good, I will detach Obishero and Raven to attack the Romulan by coming in from the other side of the star and below the Ecliptic, I'll take Scorpio strait on in." 

Kevar grinned without any mirth and clenched his fist. "Victory!" he roared and cut the channel. Starn stabbed at the address intracraft system and heard his voice echo throughout the kilometer long Battlstar. 

"Battle Stations! Battle Stations! This is no drill, rig for ship to ship combat, launch all fighters." Starn turned to Captain Turgenev, the skipper of the Scorpio, "best speed to the Robert A. Heinlein, Captain." 

"Aye sir," Turgenev acknowledged and turned to his own command panel. 

"Comm, get me Captain Blain of the Heinlein." 

"Aye, aye sir." The Communications Officer said. "Captain Blain is on Channel Four." 

Verince touched the screen controls of his repeater on the armrest of his command chair, and the haggard looking face of the Heinlein's skipper came on the small screen. "Commodore Starn! Thank Mitra you have arrived." The picture of the screen flickered and rolled, snow nearly obliterated the image of the freighter's skipper as the Romulans attempted to jam the signal. "We've taken several hits by plasma torpedo. One in engineering has knocked out our solar converters ..." 

SQUAWK "...ejected >garbled "Don't worry, Captain. We'll find them. Our ETA on your starboard quarter is three minutes." 

The screen cleared momentarily, and Blain grinned. "We'll..." 

There was a second long burst of intense static and then the starfield returned to the screen's display. 

"Sir! The freighter! A direct hit on their port warp nacelle ... the warp core must have breached. The Heinlein has been vaporized ... totally destroyed..." 

The main screen clicked on the long range optical scan. Debris from the destroyed starship crowded the screen. 

"CROM!" The scan engineer swore. "They're driving on the safe room! They're firing! Direct hit - the safe room has been destroyed Commodore." 

Verince's mouth was set in a hard scowl. "Make to all vessels," the Nomad Commander said. "I want the head of that Romulan to stuff and mount in my day cabin. A thousand bars of gold-pressed latinum to the crew, Nomad or Klingon, who brings it to me."

* * *

0325 hours GMT, stardate 7312.25  
Romulan Battle Cruiser B'rettahaln  
Engaged in combat, V-984 starsystem 

"The target continues to resist, my Commander Xenferdious." 

"Charge plasma torpedo launcher," Xenferdious decided. 

"My Commander?" the ordnance officer questioned. "Against a freighter?" 

"Yes!" the Commander snarled. "That Nomad rabble will be here in minutes, we must finish the Federation pirates and turn back on the Nomads. For the glory of the Praetor!" 

"As you command." 

The Romulan crew went about their duties grimly, it was obvious to them that the Commander had become seriously unbalanced during the pursuit. He was treating this virtually defenseless freighter as a Galaxy-class Federation battleship, while ignoring the real military threat of the Star Nomad attack carrier and Klingon Vorcha-class cruiser, and their escorts. 

"Plasma launchers are charged, my Commander," the chief weapons officer reported. "All four tubes are ready to fire." 

"Transfer fire control to my console." 

"Commander?" 

"DO IT!" 

"Fire control is with Commander." 

Xenferdious activated his weapons panel. On the B'rettahaln's main screen, an aiming template appeared, glowing gold and red against the inky black of interstellar space. The template moved in response to Xenferdious' weapons control joysticks. The Commander of the B'rettahaln, positioned the aiming template directly over the center of the fleeing Robert A. Heinlein. 

"Fire," Xenferdious whispered to himself and depressed the firing stud. Deep within the B'rettahaln's fusion core, nuclear force beams squeezed and manipulated the core, causing a plasma fireball to detach from the fusion-fire of the core's ministar, and in obedience to the weapons system, accelerate down B'rettahaln's plasma launcher and burst into the vacuum of space. Less than a second later, it smashed through the last remnants of Heinlein's top shield and vaporized a large segment of the freighter's port warp nacelle. The plasma bolt's EM shock wave traveled back up the jefferies tube EPS conduits and into the stricken freighter's warp core, instantly causing a breech. 0.003 seconds later the containment field within the antimatter injectors collapsed and the Heinlein's 400 tons of antimatter annihilated 400 tons of the ship's structure, generating a fireball 3,800 kilometers across. 

With its own dedicated life support, structural integrity field and shields, the Heinlein's safe room did its job, shielding the colonists from the fury of the warp core breech. As the safe room's APU/battery power plant came on line when ship's power was severed, the room's disaster beacon began to broadcast its MAYDAY signal. 

On board B'rettahaln, Xenferdious moved the plasma torpedo aiming template and centered it on the safe room. 

"My Commander Xenferdious!" Sub-commander Tal jumped to his feet. "You cannot fire on the safe room, it is an abomination! The act of an insane man." 

Xenferdious stabbed at the fire control and a plasma bolt engulfed the Heinlein's safe room, causing its molecular disintergration. 

"NOW we are finished, no more Federation criminals exist in our space. We must now make ready to repel the other attacking ships..." 

Sub-commander Tal drew his disrupter and pointed it at Xenferdious. "Commander, I relieve you in the name of the Praetor. You are guilty of War Crimes." Tal took a step further and two Romulan Marines responded to his gesture to seize the former commander. "I must now try to get us home. The distruction of the safe room will surely enrage the Star Nomads." 

"No! NO!" Xenferdious shouted. "I'm a hero of the fatherland, I've repelled the Federation invasion!" In a lightning fast movement, the deranged Romulan drew his own disrupter pistol and fired at Tal and the Marines. Tal jumped aside but collapsed, a smoking hole in his shoulder. 

The Marines dove for cover and immediately returned fire, relieving the renegade of his command. 

Commander Xenferdious of the Romulan Space Navy died as he had always imagined himself ... a legend in his own mind. 

Commander Ogan of the Romulan People's Fleet had finally achieved his goal, the command of a D'deridex-class squadron; but because he had the misfortune to serve under a madman, that goal was now quickly leading him and the 1,900 Romulan soldiers now under his command into the depths of Fahnarkahn, the Romulan version of hell. Ogan had often played the hound in the hunt, and it was unpleasant to be the prey this time. His chances of leading the squadron back across the Neutral Zone out of the Triangle sector were growing dimmer as he watched the battle display. Already B'rettahaln, under the command of Xenferdecious' second, sub commander Tal, had lost the ability to maneuver above warp three, and Ogan's decision to remain and cover the wounded battle cruiser had pushed their ETA at the edge of the Neutral Zone from a few hours at warp seven to a few months at warp three. 

B'larra had also suffered grievous damage, though not as extensive as B'rettahaln, who was at present only able to limp along at warp three. At a bear minimum the hull and drive of the huge battleship would have to be replaced, and the more Ogan looked at the damage reports from B'rettahaln, the more likely it became that the D'deridex class ship would have to be totaled out as scrap metal. Ogan was relieved to know that the renegade had been dispatched by his own marines. May the Gods save us all from a fate like Xenferdesious's, Ogan prayed silently 

Ogan had, immediately upon his ascension to squadron commander, ordered the Romulan vessels to make best speed for the neutral zone and home. If those damned Klingons had not been on them like a pack of ravenous ravvitors Ogan could have ordered the crew of B'rettahaln to transport to B'Larra and have been home by now. But the Klingons had stayed with them, periodically using QLR radio to broadcast insults about the Romulans speed, while staying just out of disrupter range -- thus forcing and B'rettahaln to maintain their shields, depriving the ships of transmat links. Long before they reached the Neutral Zone, Ogan realized, he would be forced to make a horrible choice, either abandon the B'rettahaln and run for home, surrender to the enemy truly a distressing choice, or turn and fight the vastly superior force. 

"Commander Ogan," the senior Romulan Officer's brooding was interrupted by the high pitched, panicked voice of his detection officer. "The Klingons have caught up with us, and coming into weapons range." 

SO, Ogan thought, the choice is made for us... we go into battle against the enemy. With typical Romulan fatalism, Ogan began to implement his decision, stay and fight. After all, there was absolutely nothing wrong with B'rettahaln's main batteries. And if he could somehow win this engagement, his career would be assured. The Romulan admiralty and a knighthood beckoned. 

"Signal B'rettahaln, in case they are unaware of the situation, tell Sub Commander Tal to maintain course and speed to the Neutral Zone and to engage any and all targets of opportunity. Helmsman, bring us around to a position where we can provide a running block for B'rettahaln. Weapons Officer, bring all weapons on line." 

There were bright flashes where the Klingon's disrupter beams touched the Romulan's shields. A minute portion of the raging energy of the weapon's beam leaked through and caused a disappointingly small explosion on the rear quarter of the battleship's upper deck. Auroras and other electrical discharges roamed over the hull of the ship, in places touching off other auxiliary explosions. Trailing sheets of crackling energy from its damaged shields, and with dancing lines of brilliant discharges playing back and forth over her hull, the B'rettahaln turned slowly to keep her strongest shield, the forward one, pointed at the attacking Klingons. 

A final spread of Klingon torpedoes finished the combat as four of the five torpedoes detonated within the structure of the B'rettahaln. The ship's structural integrity field generator failed and within seconds the electro-gravitational differentials tore the B'rettahaln apart. Blast doors automatically minimizing the actual loss of life, but the battle was over. 

"Commander Klingon Forces," Ogan said. "What are your terms for surrender?"

* * *

0330 hours GMT, stardate 7312.25   
Robert A. Heinlein escape pod  
Exact position unknown 

Travis knew what the bright flashes of blue-white light off to the port was. The Robert A. Heinlein's ion trail had long ago faded to invisibility -- but the detonation of photon torpedoes and the death gasp of a starship's warp core could been seen with the naked eye across billions of kilometers. He hoped it was a Romulan ship that had ended its existence so suddenly and not the Heinlein. Within minutes there were other flashes of light in the depths of space, three, four, five, Travis counted. That must be the battle between the Star Nomads and the Romulans -- so there was still hope for the Robert A. Heinlein. 

"Travis?" Kristy wiggled into the narrow pilot's compartment of the escape pod. 

The eleven-year-old smiled, trying to be more positive and hopeful than he felt right now. 

"What's up, rug-rat?" 

"When will the ship come back for us?" the five-year-old asked, her brown eyes wide with concern. 

Travis refused to let himself think of what those flashes of light far off in the void might have been. He HAD to remain positive for the others...but he already knew that Kristy would instantly see through any deception on his part. 

"What about Santa?" Kristy continued in a small voice. "What if those mean ole Romulans get him?" 

Before Travis could think of a plausible answer, the mass proximity alarm went off. Kristy scrambled over the 11 year old boy and pressed her nose against the transparent aluminum viewport. Travis crowded in right behind her. 

"There!" Kristy shouted, pointing, "It's SANTA!" 

There was a group of red and green lights moving slowly toward them. A ship! But who's? It wasn't the Robert A. Heinlein, Travis was sure of that -- the anti collision lights were far to wide apart. But was this a Star Nomad ship -- or a Romulan? Popular myth and legend about the Romulans was that they did not take prisoners. Did that mean that he and Kristy and the other children on the escape pod would be executed by a Romulan firing squad? 

"Kristy," Travis grabbed the 5-year-old just as she was about to alert the other kids to the presence of the supposed Santa. "That's the outline of a starship -- not a sleigh and reindeer -- whoever it is it is not Santa." 

The little girl shivered and pressed close against Travis, and he put his arm around her, protectively, as the two watched the now overwhelmingly huge constellation of anti collision lights and illuminated viewports on the starship draw nearer. Suddenly the port illumination flood lights of the kilometer long starship flashed on, illuminating the eagle symbol of the Star Nomad military and the ship's name: 

"HMS SCORPIO"   
"CVA-76." 

"Ahoy escape pod. This is the Star Nomad Ship HMS Scorpio. Do you have thrusters on line?" The omni-comm suddenly exploded to life. 

"Yes," Travis stammered into the omnicomm mic, "thrusters are on line, all systems nominal..." 

A vacuum armor-clad Verince Starn was standing on the deck of the Alpha Flight Bay as the huge durillium-armor blast doors of the landing bay opened themselves to the velvet black of interstellar space. The Nomad Flag officer nudged the chin-switch and his macrobinoculars slid down in front of his eyes - he stepped up the magnification to 4x and the light amplification factor to log two and scanned the ship's artificial ecliptic for the approaching escape pods -- the only thing left of the freighter Robert A. Heinlein. 

There they were, perhaps a dozen, flying in a reasonable approximation of formation. Captain Blain had said he had loaded these boats with as many of the children as he could -- including the pilots. If hat were the case, they were doing a very credible job of it. One by one the escape pods were gripped gently by the landing deck's tractor beam crew and brought to a safe touchdown on the deck of the landing bay. Thirty-six hours ago, Starn had been worried about how his green crew would ever come together into a coherent whole, a group of rugged individualists working toward a common goal. It seemed he had been wrong in his pessimistic estimation of how long it would take to mold the 3,000 some people into a Star Fleet crew. As the tractor beam crew gently eased the last of the escape pods to a landing on the durillium deck of the landing bay, the Commodore was quite pleased with the way his crew had handled this situation under the ever-watchful eyes of the Klingons. 

Now came the hard part, Starn frowned, telling the survivors that the Robert A. Heinlein had been vaporized and in all likelihood there were no other survivors. Scorpio's skipper, Captain Turgenev met him at the inner portal of the five meter wide airlock and help up a datapad as Starn released the pressure seals on the vac-armor and let the armor-droid take the 200 kilogram suit as he stepped out of it. 

"About the Romulans ..." Turgenev began. 

"Yes, I want those pirate terrorists, as soon as we are finished recovering escape pods, I want to go after them, warp eight." 

Turgenev scratched his head and looked bemused. "We won't have to chase them sir. Commodore Kevar reports that there has been some kind of mutiny on the Romulan ships. They haven't surrendered, but their dead in space with shields up. They want to speak to Commander, Federation Forces." 

"Hhrumph! Where is Captain Drakul?" 

"He's with Kevar's squadron, anchoring the third leg of a triangular englobment on both the Romulan D'dutrix-class ships." 

"Good. Send an encrypted tight beam to Dakul, tell him to keep an eye on Kevar too. There is not much love lost between Klingons and Romulans and I don't want Kevar to take it into his head to finish off the Romulans before I can hear what the devil made them chase after a tramp freighter into the Triangle like this and cause an interstellar incident." 

"Aye, sir," Turgenev said and turned for the turbolift to the bridge. 

The survivors from the escape pods were coming into the airlock alcove and the large lounge area that served his scorpion and viper pilots as a ready room when Starn arrived. The children of the Robert A. Heinlein. How could he tell those happy laughing children the he had let them down badly -- and that their parents and older friends and siblings were now nothing but ionized gasses drifting forever in the vastness of the inner edge of the Pursues Arm of the Milky Way? 

(End of this Episode) 


End file.
